Dead Spot: The Author Interview

It must be karma. As a lifelong half-assed celebrity, I’ve been asked for interviews. And I always just kinda went “Gah!” because I never wanted to be at the mercy of someone like me. Then in 2011 I published a bangin’ rock’n’roll mystery novel called Dead Spot, which somebody should’ve interviewed me about by now but hasn’t. Screw ’em, um doing it my damn self. Here ya go!

As a lifelong half-assed celebrity, I've been asked for interviews. And I always just kinda went "Gah!" because I never wanted to be at the mercy of someone like me. Then in 2011 I published a bangin' mystery rock'n'roll novel called Dead Spot, which somebody should've interviewed me about by now but they haven't. Screw 'em, um doing it my damn self. Here ya go! Dead Spot: The Author Interview Q Is Dead Spot a roman a clef? A Hahaha! No. But the Nona character is kind of a worst-case-scenario me. I'd personally never murder anyone, but Nona would if I could've worked it into the storyline. Q So, no chicken bombs for you? Hoses through mailslots? A No, sorry. Although back when you could mail stuff COD without a return address, I did send an asshole a brick. Q Your characters are ... quite realistic, and shady as hell. What fundamentally motivates them? A It changed over time. This book reads like a romp but actually took ten years to write. During the first draft, I was reading Margaret Atwood and it showed. My characters were moribund. I decided Nona would be way more fun and lovable if her actions were driven by amorality rather than self-righteousness. So I fixed her in the rewrite. Q When you were a kid, did you ever go on fun road trips with your dad, like Nona did? A Nah. My father was a small business owner. He didn't have time for crap like that. He was pretty cool, though. His mostest prized possession was a cherrypicker. I wanted to drive it but he wouldn't let me. Q Are any of Dead Spot's other characters based on real people? A Let's put it this way: Most of my friends have been musicians. My first and last boyfriends were musicians. I went to a college for musicians. I wrote about wedding bands for magazines, and nightclubs for newspapers. I've hung around musicians my whole life. Today I have two kinds of friends: musicians who're mad at me because they think they're in Dead Spot, and musicians who're mad because they aren't. Q Play any musical instruments yourself? A I used to. Guitar, clarinet, piano, gangsa, and gong, when gangsa didn't work out. As a kid I was in the all-city orchestra, and assorted school bands, and a gamelan. I actually used to could read and write music, but mostly I butchered it. Q What about singing? A Lol. I was in school choirs and stuff. And briefly in a pop duo with a friend who was good enough to become a professional opera singer. I was good enough to become a pulp fiction writer. Although this one time at karaoke I hit a note only dogs could hear, and some drunks in the back went nuts. Not sure that counts. Q Ever get into a slam at a Ramones show? A Maybe. Q A running theme in Dead Spot is vintage guitars. You seem to know a lot about them. Do you got any? A Nah. I had a lot of help with that. A couple of guys I know are into collecting, big league. They're really incapable of talking about anything else. Q What about vintage motorcycles? A Thems I know. I used to write about vintage bikes for magazines. Old Bike Journal, Classic Cycle Review. Q Do you ride motorcycles? A Yup. Q Wrench them? A Yup. Q Ever get a speeding ticket? A Duh Q What was your inspiration for Dead Spot's epic vehicular chase? A I've carried many annoying passengers. Plus I was followed and threatened a lot. See, if you have a bike, you make a lot of friends. My scoot got pushed over and set on fire. I've been front ended, rear ended, and doored. One time I hopped a curb to avoid a traffic jam and got chased by the international police, because it turned out the sidewalk I was driving on was the UN's. Put them all together, they spell mofo. Q Nice. So what's your journalism background? A I started out writing features on culture and sports for Spy, the Village Voice, Bicycle Guide, and a gazillion other magazines. Then I did a handbrake turn into medical writing and editing in the fields of radiology, pharma, and sports medicine. I was also a business editor at Harvard. And an algebra books editor. Don't even ask. Q Did you ever do any of the wild stuff Nona does to get a story? A Ermagerd, no! I never secretly stalked people or hid in anyone's bushes or broke into houses. Not that I didn't want to. I always boringly went through proper channels and requested interviews, or my editors set them up. When I got the interview, great; when I didn't, screw 'em. Nona, she snapped. Me, I just moved along. Q What was the sketchiest journalism thing you ever did? A Faked my way into a sold-out Meat Loaf concert in the 1970s. I told his publicity office I wanted to cover it for a music magazine. The magazine belonged to a friend of mine in California. It was about electronic music and they didn't give two poops about Meat Loaf, plus this was five years before I wrote for magazines for real. My friend covered for me, though; he's a sweetie pie. In the end I did do a write-up that I submitted over the transom to some other mags, but they didn't want it, either. Anyway, Loaf sent a messenger to my apartment with two tickets to his sold-out show. Then he overnighted two more tickets for another show that I didn't even ask for. This was when Karla DeVito worked with him; I would've paid double just to see her. Great shows. Madison Square Garden and Nassau Coliseum, oxygen tanks and all. Q So, did you get to meet Mr. Loaf? A Honestly, it was too big of a clusterfuck even for me. Huge venues, hundreds of people fighting for his attention, long lines, explanations, etc. He lived in New York at the time and if I really wanted to meet him, it was easier to just pick up a box of Twinkies and ring his doorbell. Q What was different in the last millennium about investigative reporting? A Before cell phones, if you had to reach anyone in a big stinkin' hurry, first you had to find a pay phone that wasn't broken. Then you had to wait on a line to use it. Then you needed change, sometimes LOTS of change. It often ended badly. The other thing was availability of information. In 1990, when Dead Spot takes place, there was no internet, or electronic information databases accessible from your TRS-80. Like, if you wanted to know who owned a property or business, you had to go to the city buildings department or call the secretary of state's office. You couldn't search criminal records from your couch. People didn't have websites. You couldn't just fire off an email to someone you wanted to talk to. You had to get their phone number or snailmail addy somehow. I had bookshelves full of dead trees reference books, a closet full of phone books from everywhere, a Rolodex the size of Queens. Q How about sports? In Dead Spot, Nona participates in the New York City Marathon. On her bike. Ever involved in any sports yourself, beyond armchair coaching? A Yeah. I was a bicycle racing official for two wild, twisted decades. It's more corrupt than you can possibly imagine. The US cycling federation had institutionalized doping programs, rigged drug testing, an inscrutable ranking system, pandemic cheating, payola scandals, and a pedophile CEO. Oh, and they were ginormous misogynists. Good times! Q If you hadn't become a writer, what would you be now? A A courtroom artist. Or a bookie. Or a barfly. Q Do you drink tequila? A Depends. You buying?

Q Great book! Is Dead Spot a roman à clef?
A Hahaha! No. But the Nona character is kind of a worst-case-scenario me. I’d personally never murder anyone, but Nona would if I could’ve worked it into the story line.

Q So, no chicken bombs for you? Hoses through mail slots?
A No, sorry. Although back when you could mail stuff COD without a return address, I did send an asshole a brick.

Q Your characters are … quite realistic, and shady as hell. What fundamentally motivates them?
A It changed over time. This book reads like a romp but actually took ten years to write. When I began I was reading Margaret Atwood and it showed. My characters were moribund. I decided Nona would be way more fun and lovable if her actions were driven by amorality rather than self-righteousness. So I fixed her in the rewrite.

Q Are any of Dead Spot‘s other characters based on real people?
A Let’s put it this way: Most of my friends have been musicians. My first and last boyfriends were musicians. I went to a college for musicians. I wrote about wedding bands for magazines, and nightclubs for newspapers. I’ve hung around musicians my whole life. Today I have two kinds of friends: musicians who’re mad at me because they think they’re in Dead Spot, and musicians who’re mad because they aren’t.

Q Play any musical instruments yourself?
A I used to. Guitar, clarinet, piano, gangsa, and gong, when gangsa didn’t work out. As a kid I was in the all-city orchestra, and assorted school bands, and a gamelan. I actually used to could read and write music, but mostly I butchered it.

Q What about singing?
A Lol. I was in school choirs and stuff. And briefly in a pop duo with a friend who was good enough to become a professional opera singer. I was good enough to become a pulp fiction writer. Although this one time at karaoke I hit a note only dogs could hear, and some drunks in the back went nuts. Not sure that counts.

Q Ever do any songwriting?
A Only the songs in Dead Spot. Originally I wanted to use snippets of famous songs, but it cost too much so I wrote my own. They’re kind of “Rocky Horror Show”-ish. You can blame Bruce Springsteen for that. I had contacted his rep about quoting half of one verse from “Darkness on the Edge of Town” and he said, “Okay, we charge a per-run fee based on the number of copies. How many are you printing?”
Me: “None. It’s an ebook.”
Him: “Well, how many will you sell?”
Me: “If I’m lucky, five.”
Seriously, I don’t know which is more pathetic — being a twenty-first century publishing lawyer who doesn’t know about electronic publishing, or being hosed by one. In the end I used the lyric anyway and dodged the fee by… Oh, just read the book.

Q Ever get into a slam at a Ramones show?
A Maybe.

Q A running theme in Dead Spot is vintage guitars. You seem to know a lot about them. Do you got any?
A Nah. I had a lot of help with that. A couple of guys I know are into collecting, big time. They’re really incapable of talking about anything else.

Q What about vintage motorcycles? There are lots of those in Dead Spot.
A Thems I know. I used to write about vintage bikes for magazines. Old Bike Journal, Classic Cycle Review. They’re out of business now, but not because of me.

Q Do you ride motorcycles?
A Yup.

Q Wrench them?
A Yup.

Q Ever get a speeding ticket?
A Duh

Q What was your inspiration for Dead Spot‘s epic vehicular chase?
A I’ve carried many annoying passengers. Plus I was followed and threatened a lot. See, if you have a bike, you make a lot of friends. My scoot got pushed over and set on fire. I’ve been front ended, rear ended, sideswiped, and doored. One time I hopped a curb to avoid a traffic jam and got chased by international police, because it turned out the sidewalk I was driving on was the UN’s. I was never shot at, but there’s still time. Put them all together, they spell mofo.

Q When you were a kid, did you ever go on fun road trips with your dad, like Nona did?
A Nah. My father was a small business owner. He didn’t have time for crap like that. He was pretty cool, though. His mostest prized possession was a bucket truck. I wanted to drive it but he wouldn’t let me.

Q Bummer. So what’s your journalism background?
A I started out writing features on culture and sports for Spy, the Village Voice, Bicycle Guide, and a gazillion other magazines. Then I did a handbrake turn into medical writing and editing in the fields of radiology, pharma, and sports medicine. I was also a business editor at Harvard. And an algebra books editor. Don’t even ask.

Q Did you ever do any of the wild stuff Nona does to get a story?
A Ermagerd, no! I never secretly stalked people or hid in anyone’s bushes or broke into houses. Not that I didn’t want to. I always boringly went through proper channels and requested interviews, or my editors set them up. When I got the interview, great; when I didn’t, screw ’em, I just called someone else.

Q What was the sketchiest journalism thing you ever did?
A Faked my way into a sold-out Meat Loaf concert in the 1970s. I told his publicity office I wanted to cover it for a music magazine. The magazine belonged to a friend of mine in California. It was about electronic music and they didn’t give two poops about Meat Loaf, plus this was five years before I wrote for magazines for real. My friend covered for me, though; he’s a sweetie pie. In the end I did do a write-up and submitted it over the transom to some other mags who didn’t want it, either. Anyway, Loaf sent a messenger to my apartment with two tickets to his sold-out show. Then he overnighted two more tickets for another show that I didn’t even ask for. This was when Karla DeVito worked with him; I would’ve paid double just to see her. Great shows. Madison Square Garden and Nassau Coliseum, oxygen tanks and all.

Q So, did you get to meet Mr. Loaf?
A Honestly, it was too big of a cl∪sterf∪ck even for me. Huge venues, hundreds of people fighting for his attention, long lines, spurious explanations, etc. He lived in New York at the time and so did I; if I really wanted to meet him, it was easier to just pick up a box of Twinkies and go ring his doorbell.

Q What was different in the last millennium about investigative reporting?
A Before cell phones, if you had to reach anyone in a big stinkin’ hurry, first you had to find a pay phone that wasn’t broken. Then you had to wait on a line to use it. Then you needed change, sometimes LOTS of change. It often ended badly. The other thing was availability of information. In 1990, when Dead Spot takes place, there was no internet, or electronic information databases accessible from your TRS-80. Like, if you wanted to know who owned a property or business, you had to go to the city buildings department or call the secretary of state’s office. You couldn’t search criminal records from your couch. If you needed old magazine articles or out-of-town newspapers, you had to go to the library. People didn’t have websites. You couldn’t just fire off an email to someone you wanted to talk to. You had to get their phone number or snailmail addy somehow. I had mountains of dead-trees phone books from everywhere and a Rolodex the size of Queens.

Q How about sports? In Dead Spot, Nona participates in the New York City Marathon. On her bike. Ever involved in any sports yourself, beyond armchair coaching?
A Yeah. I was a bicycle racing official for two wild, twisted decades. It’s more corrupt than you can possibly imagine. The US cycling federation had institutionalized doping programs, rigged drug testing, an inscrutable ranking system, pandemic cheating, payola scandals, and a pedophile CEO. Oh, and they were ginormous misogynists. Good times!

Q If you hadn’t become a writer, what would you be now?
A A courtroom artist. Or a bookie. Or a barfly.

Q Do you drink tequila?
A Depends. You buying?

Copyright © 2018 SYDNEY SCHUSTER — All rights reserved

I make no money from this blog. If you find it interesting or useful, please buy my book Dead Spot. The Kindle version’s only $5 and you’ll love it! (Also available in paperback.) Thanks.
DEAD SPOT on AmazonSydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

 

 

 

 

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Terry, Bro — This One’s For Youse!

Back in second grade I had a crush on a kid named Terry. Amazingly, Terry ignored me.

I obsessed about ways to win his attention, none of which ever worked but did result in a novella (yes, when I was 8) about heroically saving Terry after he faceplants into Niagara Falls. Anyway, Dead Spot is a grownass reworking of it, wherein the heroine’s got a motorbike instead of a Radio Flyer, and dark proclivities, and no moral compass.

Yo Terry, if you’re out there, read Dead Spot. Ebook $5, dead trees $12. You owe me, pal.

DEAD SPOT on AmazonCopyright © 2017 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

The Lost Supreme: The Life of Dreamgirl Florence Ballard | Book Review

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The Lost Supreme: The Life of Dreamgirl Florence Ballard
by Peter Benjaminson
Book Review © 2014 Sydney Schuster – All Rights Reserved

Whether The Supremes are icons of your youth or a legend you’ve recently discovered, don’t miss The Lost Supreme: The Life of Dreamgirl Florence Ballard. Author Peter Benjaminson skips no juicy details in this splendid biography of the group’s founder and most gifted member.

 

A former investigative reporter and author of the books The Story of Motown and Mary Wells: The Tumultuous Life of Motown’s First Superstar, Benjaminson delivers a seamless portrayal of the R&B luminary who zoomed from projects to stardom at 20, descended into alcoholism and poverty, then died tragically at 32 while attempting a comeback.

Benjaminson’s exhaustive research is impeccable. Every page of The Lost Supreme comes alive with intimate recollections from Ballard and the people who knew her best.

For lovers of showbiz backstory, The Lost Supreme has it all — Ballard’s harrowing rape by an NBA star; her manipulation by Berry Gordy and Diane Ross; the power struggle between the tinny-voiced singer and the throaty, sultry one; the ludicrous contracts; the catfights; the racist attacks; the bizarre meeting with the Beatles; Ballard’s ignominious ouster from the Supremes; the fortune stolen from her; and her unsuccessful $8.7 million lawsuit against Motown.

There are many wonderful quotes, too, like this gem from Ballard about the songs from the Supremes’ first single: “… both flops, but they were good flops.” And this zinger from Mary Wilson: “Whenever Diane would insist on a lead and then sing it, we would sort of look at each other and try not to laugh. She had this weird little whiny sound.”

There are other books about the Supremes, but only this one’s author has a musician’s understanding of R&B, a union spokesman’s understanding of contract law, and a Detroiter’s understanding of the inner city. All serve to illuminate the book’s narrative without overpowering it, as when Benjaminson describes the Motown sound: “This heavy beat was a natural connection between the African past and the mechanized present … African American tradition updated by the incessant pounding of the punch press and buffed to a shiny gloss by contact with an urban society.”

Benjaminson’s writing style is clean and direct but never boring, painting vivid images of civil rights-era America while elegantly putting Ballard’s successes and struggles into perspective. He takes great care to analyze the conflicting reports of certain pivotal events that, Rashomon-like, left fans and historians alike scratching their heads for decades. With a keen talent for juxtaposing quotes and events, he unveils interpersonal dynamics overlooked in other books on this subject.

The author’s wry wit keeps things lively. About Motown’s notorious owner who mixed and matched artists, writers, and producers with wild abandon, he writes: “Gordy hadn’t worked in a factory for nothing: he knew the value of interchangeable parts.”

In short, The Lost Supreme is can’t-put-it-down reading.

The exclusive input from Ballard is riveting. By allowing Flo to speak for herself (based on extensive one-on-one interviews just before her death), Benjaminson and Ballard distinguish fact from myth in the oft-romanticized central story of a beleaguered superstar who stood up to an exploitive recording industry. It all adds up to a remarkable history, brought to life by the people who lived it.

Available on Amazon.
guitars

Don’t miss Peter Benjaminson’s article in Rolling Stone about how The Lost Supreme got thisclose to becoming a movie!guitars

Copyright © 2014 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

I make no money from this blog. If you find it interesting or useful, please buy my book Dead Spot. The Kindle version’s only $5 and you’ll love it! Thanks.

DEAD SPOT on Amazon

Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

MARY WELLS | A Great New Bio About Motown’s First Superstar

Mary Wells

Mary Wells: The Tumultuous Life of Motown’s First Superstar
by Peter Benjaminson
Book Review by SYDNEY SCHUSTER © 2014  – All Rights Reserved

It doesn’t matter how much you think you know about the music world. Mary Wells: The Tumultuous Life of Motown’s First Superstar is a revelation. Peter Benjaminson’s fascinating exposé about this underappreciated hitmaker is a roller coaster ride that will leave you breathless. I couldn’t wait to see how it ended, even though I already knew (or thought I did).

This is the first book written about megastar Wells, and Benjaminson’s third book about Motown (along with The Lost Supreme and The Story of Motown). Clearly a devotee of R&B, he takes special care to explain why this musical genre is so compelling. But this superb book is also a gold mine of historical anecdotes — some humorous, some flat-out shocking, from wardrobe malfunctions to family deathbed fights to celebrity shootings. Lovers of showbiz dish will relish the stories about a teenaged Stevie Wonder groping Wells on the Motortown Revue tour bus, and Wells telling a furious Diana Ross to get a girdle. Reliably, Benjaminson never shrinks from airing the dirty laundry of anyone, including Motown founder Berry Gordy, one of the most feared and loathed gods of the entertainment world.

Gordy was himself a frustrated musical artist about whom Benjaminson explains: “No one found his playing or his singing all that overwhelming.” Gordy was far more successful as a producer and napoleonic CEO. Under his influence, Wells abandoned what the author describes as her “gutsy, gospel-type” singing style for “innocent, vulnerable adolescent lyrics … over a high-production, harmony-heavy vocal and instrumental background best exemplified by [Phil] Spector’s `Wall of Sound.'”

Thus in 1960 Wells became the first superstar of Motown Records. Then Gordy teamed her up with legendary songwriter Smokey Robinson, who, as Benjaminson explains, “encouraged her to sing in a higher register…. She followed his directions, then added her own smooth, knowing coyness, like a layer of delicious frosting, right on top.” Their songs catapulted Wells to crossover superpower status, where the Grammy-nominated phenom spent three years repeatedly topping charts with hits like “My Guy” and “Bye Bye Baby.”

What happened next is truly tragic. Wells’s life became a toxic stew of bad business decisions, aborted career reboots, and volatile romances. For her there would be no movies or TV shows like white pop stars got, and no more monster hits — only indifferent promotion by record companies, industrial sabotage, and substance abuse, all of which ultimately destroyed her.

Great gobs of Wells’s misfortune derived from unscrupulous managers and predatory contracts (she was only 17 when she joined Motown Records). Drugs and booze just made it all easier for her to bear. Hers is a cautionary tale that Benjaminson delivers with the warmth and understanding befitting a star of her caliber. His bulletproof reporting is built on extensive research and interviews with scores of people in Wells’s sphere, spiced with ballsy observations like this one about Wells’s first husband (band leader Herman Griffin, who performed backflips and splits while conducting):

Something other than drugs, liquor, and music was soon occupying her mind. “The audience liked to look at him as much as at her,” said Pete Moore [of The Miracles]. Mary also liked looking at Herman Griffin.

I confess to being a long-time Benjaminson fan. As a scribe, his style is delightful. Take how he characterizes two of Wells’s songs as “enlivened by what sound like farts from a low-pitched tuba.” C’mon, what’s not to like? If he wrote a book about fly swatters, I’d totally read it — and underline stuff and scrawl margin notes and make my friends read it, too.

As an investigator, his digging is so exhaustive it wears me out just thinking about it. Plus, he has a gift for distilling the maddeningly complex legal constructs of music contracts so that the lay wonks among us can appreciate their insanity, too. And he nimbly puts into perspective the numerous and often conflicting contemporary accounts of what really happened to the people he writes about.

I especially enjoy his books about showbiz luminaries, and this one is his best yet. Here Benjaminson delivers a seamless portrayal of an industry that devours its young, and what it was really like for a gifted casualty like Mary Wells.

Mary Wells: The Tumultuous Life of Motown’s First Superstar is available on Amazon.
Dead SpotCopyright © 2014 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved
Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

Using Facebook as a Paid Marketing Tool (FAIL!!!)

Now I would like to say a word about Facebook.

Sucks.

A very interesting thing happened to me this week, and I don’t mean Hurricane Sandy (although that happened to me, too, but this is about another kind of s#!tstorm).

My bangin’ novel Dead Spot has a Facebook page. And according to Facebook’s metrics, Dead Spot‘s page enjoyed 205 views over two days — a 6733.33% increase! (According to Facebook.) Increase over what, Facebook doesn’t say. But even if it’s an increase over, say, 1, on what planet does that math result in 6733% ?

Could Facebook be … exaggerating?

As you probably know by now, Facebook is clawing everyone’s eyes out to buy more product exposure from them. Ads. Likes. Blogs. Greater “reach.” Fake storefronts where you can’t actually sell anything. If there’s an angle to exploit, Facebook is all over it, in the most exasperating ways possible. 6733.33%, my ass.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got something to sell, and I’d be thrilled to give Facebook some of my money for broader exposure — if Facebook would actually give me some that worked.

Here’s the thing. I was shocked when I got those 205 hits (I usually get 10-15, because Facebook only broadcasts my Dead Spot posts to a fraction of the people who subscribe to it, because Facebook is holding the rest hostage for money. My most recent post was broadcast to — wait for it — 4 people). But I was even more shocked that 205 hits resulted in 0 sales. They didn’t even result in new Likes.

Which brings us back to Facebook wanting to charge fees for delivering more of this sort of traffic. On account of it’s so awesome and all.

According to one report from a marketing company, most users don’t revisit Facebook pages after “Liking” them. The report examined 4,000 Facebook fan pages, and claims the average post reaches only 17 percent of its page’s Likers.

If you want more reach than that, there’s Facebook’s new and completely arbitrary “Promote” scam. It costs up to $100 for a lousy three days of one post appearing in the news feeds of a few more people who actually signed up to receive it, plus a bunch of strangers who could give a crap.

One Facebook page owner who field tested two $5 Promote investments reported some sad results. One post (about a free club meeting) was transmitted to 806 of 2,300 Likers’ news feeds. That’s 35 percent coverage, or twice the unpaid average. The other post (about an event with a cover charge) reached only 484 Liker news feeds, or 21 percent. The page owner doesn’t say whether the promotions enhanced his events’ attendance (wasn’t that the point?). However, he did collect 2 extra page Likes for his trouble. Wow.

When you pay to “promote” your Facebook post, it’s transmitted to (among others who could care less) friends of friends of your friends. Also strangers with whom you share an interest in, say, breathing. And, infuriatingly, never to everyone who clicked Like on your page. The fee is charged upfront to your credit card, and then Facebook proceeds to not tell you how many users will receive your “sponsored” post in their news feeds. Reliable reports claim likes resulting from paid promotion are generated by click farms.

In other words, Facebook paid “promotion” is utterly random and illogical. And useless. Or putting it in marketing terms, a pig in lipstick. It’s why your news feed is skunked up with “sponsored posts” selling diet soap (JUST SHOWER AND LOSE WEIGHT!) and junk that stops ringing in your ears. The only winner is Facebook, who makes $1 million per day doing this to you.

Before Facebook jumped the shark, I looked into their other advertising “opportunities.” They wanted 75¢ per poke for pay-per-click ads. The clicks would result in Facebook Likes (or not, and either way a huge bill for me), but clickmeisters would then have to take the initiative to find my website or Amazon listing to buy the book I’m selling, and historically they don’t even click the handy links in my Facebook posts, much less the ones on my info page nobody can find thanks to Facebook’s brain-damaged site designers. Many clicks and much searching are required just to drive visitors to another website to buy my book, because Facebook won’t let anyone actually sell anything on Facebook. [Earth to Facebook: IT’S CALLED A BUY NOW BUTTON! Jeez.] It wears me out just thinking about it. What’s the point in paying for that?

Got something to sell? Don’t fall for Facebook’s smarmy pitches. “Likes” aren’t worth paying for if they don’t result in sales. Real targeted marketing is a science, not a slogan. It gets you sales, not taillights. Spend your ad dollars where they’ll count.

By the way, Facebook didn’t invent rolling service blackouts. Enron did. (Remember those granny-killing d-bags?)

eBay perpetrates this trick, too, using it to give preferential treatment to favored sellers and manage its inadequate infrastructure instead of improving it (translation: eBay physically TURNS OFF listings), and rake in millions at the same time.

eBay sellers, like Facebook users, have seen catastrophic drop-offs in page views this year, while eBay and Facebook stole scads of their dough. So don’t bother selling your book on eBay. And rest in pieces, Enron. You sick bastards.

As for my sudden deluge of Facebook page views — well, they didn’t even come from Facebook trying to woo me into pay-to-play. The real answer is way creepier.

They came from Twitter. On the day of my 6733% Facebook spike, I posted a link to Dead Spot‘s Amazon product page on Twitter. There is a link to Dead Spot‘s Facebook page on Amazon, but it’s on my author page (not my product page), which I doubt 205 people suddenly felt compelled to find and click. My Twitter and Facebook pages are not linked at all. Not by me, anyway.

Is stalking what Facebook means when they promise “greater reach”? Like I said. Creepy.


Facebook Fraud — A Wake-Up Call from Veritasium

 DEAD SPOT on Amazon

Copyright © 2014 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

Make The Stupid Stop! / Part II

On April 23 I noted the insane War of the Book Distributors over my novel Dead Spot, which is for sale over at Amazon and Barnes & Noble. When we last visited the online booksellers, Amazon sported three vendors vying for Dead Spot sales at various (mostly absurd) price points: $7.32, $111.22, and $121.73 (and mine, a thrifty $13.95!). B&N’s one vendor had Dead Spot over-optimistically priced at $142.45.

I’m completely flabbergasted to report that the Amazon copies of Dead Spot are now going for an astounding $84.97 (for the same one you could’ve had for $7.32 had you moved your ass faster) and $232.06! (Both alongside mine, still economically priced at $13.95.) The B&N copy has been joined by a second one that wandered over from Amazon, and they’re now selling for — wait for it — $239.95 and $282.53 (for the one that used to be $142.45).

No, I am not making this up! And in case you’re wondering, the three-figure Dead Spots are review copies requested by magazines that never even read them. I’ve decided that them scalping Dead Spot for $282 is an endorsement far superior to any editorial blather they would’ve barfed up.

Here’s the other thing: Why anyone would pay more than $13.95 for my book beats the hell outta me. Not that it isn’t the greatest rock’n’roll novel ever written. But if you buy the $282.53 Dead Spot, I won’t see a dime of it. Also, for $282 they should deliver it personally and give you a blow job. So buy Dead Spot from me for $13.95. At least mine are autographed.

 

Copyright © 2012 SYDNEY SCHUSTER – All Rights Reserved

Sydney Schuster and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorse any third-party advertising that may appear below, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore it.

Thank You, Porter Anderson!

Big shout out to Porter Anderson, the journalist, lit critic and former UN diplomat who posts at PorterAnderson.com and @Porter_Anderson on Twitter. A while back the lovely Mr. Anderson tweeted wryly about Dead Spot and got me my biggest one-day response ever to this blog. Thanks, Mr. Anderson!

Copyright © 2012 SYDNEY SCHUSTER
Sydney Schuster
and Dead Spot neither approved nor endorsed any third-party advertising that may appear on this blog, nor do we derive any income from it. Feel free to ignore such crap.